Keeping Faith
by FayJay
Summary: Set after end S5 BtVS & S2 AtS. Faith receives some bad news. (warning - contains strong language.)


Keeping Faith  
  
  
  
Rating: G - some colourful language, though.  
  
Summary: Wes visits Faith in prison. Faith recalls his first visit. Set between S2 & S3 AtS.  
  
Archive: If you want it, it's yours. Just let me know, please.  
  
Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon. Not mine. Don't sue.  
  
Notes: Thanks to Kassie for Beta-ing.  
  
  
  
There was a spring in her step as she walked down the corridor, even though she wasn't sure he'd be there. It had been a really good week. That bitch LaReine had finally been transferred to another facility, and she'd *really* enjoyed waving her off and blowing kisses at her back. Thought she'd never stop grinning. The new girl they'd put in with her didn't seem too lame - she'd probably turn out to be a world-class bitch after the honeymoon period, but just now she seemed OK. They'd had the initial bristling territorial thing going on, and it was still kinda tense, but Carla had actually made her laugh a coupla times already and that couldn't be a bad thing.  
  
She really hoped he was going to be there.  
  
Rounded a corner and it was Wesley, which was still sort of awkward but better than nothing. *Way* less awkward now than it had been the first time he'd visited her, anyway. They'd been getting on better lately - he'd actually cracked her up last time with a story about hustling some unsuspecting darts players in one of his Ye Olde British bars. Wes was OK. But he wasn't Angel.  
  
She felt the prickle of disappointment but banished it as best she could, 'cause it wasn't like she needed Angel's visits. She was a big girl, could handle herself just fine. Didn't need anyone to hold her hand. She knew Angel had stuff to do, couldn't always get here. It didn't mean he'd gone AWOL again - he was still Mr Epiphany when he visited last week, and guilty as hell about that whole Darla thing. Probably busy getting medieval on some ugly demon's ass in the sewers just now.  
  
Hadn't realised how much she'd been looking forward to seeing him today until she saw the big old Angel-shaped space the other side of the glass and felt something inside closing up automatically. Like those little undersea plant things on the wildlife shows, the way they pulled all the tender little tendrils back in on themselves the instant something touched them. Weren't they poisonous? She had a feeling they were. Whatever.  
  
"Hey, sport," she said cheerfully as she swung onto the seat, trying not to let her disappointment show. "A friendly hint: accessorising black with black is a kinda sexy new look for you, don't get me wrong - but if you're trying to disguise yourself as Angel it ain't working. I saw through it straight off." She grinned at him but there was no answering smile. "Hey, cheer up, Wes! How bad could it be?" He looked stricken.  
  
Then it clicked.  
  
Wesley. Dressed in black.  
  
//Oh *shit*//  
  
* * *  
  
First time Angel hadn't shown she'd felt like seven kinds of shit. Burningly angry with herself for giving a damn, for having gotten into the habit of relying on his visits. You can't count on *anyone* else, she reminded herself furiously. Not ever. Fuckers always let you down. He was a busy guy, lives to save, evil to battle, temptations to resist, same old same old. Not surprising that he'd gotten bored with his little pet project. She wasn't B.  
  
She'd stormed straight into a fight with Stacey's gang, but she hadn't killed anyone. Broke a lot of bones though. None of them hers.  
  
The week she'd spent in solitary gave her plenty of time to think about things, and she actually felt a tiny bit embarrassed by the time they let her out. He *was* a busy guy. Just 'cause he hadn't shown this one time didn't have to mean he'd dumped her - most likely the poor sap had been saving the world. Again. Might even be dust for all she knew. And if he wasn't dust now, he might be next week, or the week after - she'd signed up for this deal, and she was going to have to rely on herself. Which was fine. She could do that.  
  
Next time he was there on the dot, pretty face all guilty, disarmingly apologetic about the life-and-death stuff he'd been caught up in before. He brought candy. So it was cool again and she stopped expecting him to always be there. Some weeks he just wouldn't be able to make it, and saving the world was a pretty good excuse.  
  
But he nearly always *was* there, until one day he just stopped coming.  
  
Now *that* had hurt. She'd convinced herself he was dead when five visiting times came and went and still no sign of Angel. Well, deader. Hated walking down the corridor each time 'cause she couldn't bring herself to stop going in case he did show up - but she hated her weakness for hoping he'd be there and she hated the looks on the guards' faces when he wasn't.  
  
Fifth time she'd rounded the corner and there was fucking Wesley. First time she'd seen him since - well, since *that* night. (" I think I want to hear you scream.")  
  
Couldn't see any scars, but she knew where they'd be.  
  
She'd very, very nearly just turned right on round again, 'cause she sure as hell hadn't been expecting *him*, and she really didn't want to play out whatever scene Wesley was here for. But he was a visitor and he was here for something. And he'd be able to tell her about Angel - who was probably dust.  
  
"Wes." All her muscles had tensed up, poised for flight. She couldn't quite look him in the eye, replaying the last time she'd seen him. Remembering the sounds he'd made when she'd had him tied to the chair, the way his mouth twisted while she hurt him. Remembered what he'd said to her - hadn't expected old Wes to have such a pair on him. Remembered what he'd said to her. Remembered what he'd said to her.  
  
And then the uptight little sonofabitch had gone and saved her ass from the Watchers' Council.  
  
She hadn't seen him since.  
  
Sitting on the edge of her seat, ready to bolt, she'd waited for Wesley to tell her Angel was dead. Pause had grown and she'd darted a look at him, angry curves on the soft planes of his face. Eyes hiding behind glasses, pale like his shirt. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.  
  
"He's dead, isn't he?" Couldn't bring herself to say anything about all the stuff between them, her and Wes. Not about to start sharing - those bridges were *burnt*. Just wanted to hear the confirmation that Angel was dust and then she was out of here, back to her cell.  
  
"No, no he's not dead. He has stopped coming, though?" A question, which threw her a little because why the hell wasn't Wesley just asking Angel? But it was easier to focus on this than think about Wesley bleeding.  
  
(She tried to blot out the sense memory of his thighs under hers and the hoarse sound of his breathing when she cut him. She tried not to remember the silent tears, or the way that he refused to acknowledge the pain. Didn't beg after all. Whimpered a few times, but didn't scream like a woman. Who'd have guessed?)  
  
She knew a lot more about Wesley Wyndham-Price by then, Wesley and Cordelia and Gunn. And about Lindsey McDonald and this Darla chick. (There'd been a lot about Darla lately.) Had a whole lot of fragments of information, snippets of stories Angel had told her about their work that made her feel like she knew them intimately, saw them through Angel's eyes. But she didn't know that she was ready to see Wesley in the flesh just yet, with all the world of hurt still between them.  
  
"Yeah, he's stopped coming." Awkward silence grew while she stared at the surface of the glass, looked at fingerprints from other prisoners who had reached out to touch their loved ones, hands pressed against glass pressed against hands. Didn't want to look through the window at the face beyond it. Wondered what had happened to Angel.  
  
"How.how have you been?" And, Christ, that was so Wesley. Heard the undercurrent of anger or resentment or something in his voice, but it was like the words were dragged out of him because his Mom had told him he always had to be polite, make small talk, some stupid English bullshit like that. Screw that.  
  
"Five by five," she shot back automatically, that big old I'm-just-fine,- Fuck-you-very-much smile on her face. Glanced up at him and something about his expression undid her. Not pity, it wasn't pity - something she couldn't put her finger on. There was something tentative, something vulnerable in his eyes that she hadn't quite expected. He looked almost ashamed.  
  
Another pause. Faith shocked by a sudden tearful feeling and really wanting to punch something. Couldn't think what to say, and it looked like there was a lot of that going around because old Wesley still wasn't delivering the lecture she expected. Looked at her very seriously.  
  
"Faith.I'm sorry I let you down in Sunnydale." Which was absolutely the *last* thing she'd been expecting to hear. "When the deputy mayor was killed, I mean. Accidents do happen in the heat of battle and I reacted badly. I should have stood by you. I'm sorry." The words were stilted and surely he was remembering *that* night just as vividly as she was - and just as willingly.  
  
("If you'd been a better Watcher, I might have been a more positive role model.Face it, Wesley, you really were a jerk.  Always walking around as if you had some great big stake rammed up your 'English Channel'.")  
  
Stared at him like an idiot, afraid that if she said anything she might actually start to cry. And there was absolutely *no* fucking way she was going to cry, so she didn't say anything for a minute. Really, really fucking hated him just then.  
  
"What game we playing here, Wes? And where the hell's Angel?" she snarled after a minute, her voice unsteady, not looking at his face. Heard him sigh, saw his shoulders sag.  
  
"No game, Faith. I did let you down. You're responsible for your own choices, but so am I and I wish.well, I wish that I had acted differently in Sunnydale." He tried to smile, almost succeeded. After another excruciating little pause, he said quietly "I suppose I really wasn't very good at being a Watcher, in the end." It sounded like it cost old Wes a lot to admit it, and she surprised herself by feeling a sudden flash of sympathy for the man. If you weren't in B's precious little inner circle then they surely did let you know it. She wondered if he'd been as unhappy as she had.  
  
"Of course, you made some rotten decisions as a Slayer," he added, with a quirk of his eyebrows, trying for a light tone but still sounding raw as hell, "but you're paying for them now. That counts for something. I don't think.I mean, we aren't friends, Faith. But I do respect what you're doing. It shows a lot of spunk."  
  
Tension had exploded into a bark of laughter then, which caught Wesley entirely off balance and earned her a quizzical look from the guard.  
  
"Wes, I gotta tell you, spunk is something I really haven't seen a lot of lately." Watched his startled look melt into blushing confusion, and then he was half-laughing embarrassedly.  
  
"I didn't mean..I meant courage, you know, backbone, not." he protested apologetically.  
  
"I know what you meant, Wesley." Looked down at her hands, still kinda smiling. "I.look, Wes. About what happened. I *am* sorry, alright. I mean it. I'm really fucking sorry about what I did to you. It wasn't right."  
  
So it hadn't killed her to say it after all and suddenly she really meant it, really wished she could start over. *Couldn't* start over with Wes, she knew that, but still kinda wished she could. The guy in Angel's stories wasn't the guy she'd seen in Sunnydale.  
  
"I.thank you, Faith." He sounded like he meant it, like it really mattered to him that she'd said the words. Kinda choked. She felt pleased, thought Angel would be proud.  
  
"Guess I'm growing as a person, or some shit like that. So where *is* Angel?" changing the subject before it all got too damned Oprah. Long pause again and Faith had frowned up at Wesley. "He hurt or something?"  
  
"He's.well, I'm afraid that I think he's having a kind of breakdown. Wolfram and Hart brought back his Sire and he has become.a little obsessed. He fired us. I was hoping that he'd kept up the visits here, but it seems that he is severing ties with everyone who cares about him."  
  
* * *  
  
Now, months later, here was Wesley dressed in black. Face like somebody had died. Looked like he hadn't slept in a week. And she'd forgotten to be afraid of this - she'd gotten used to the idea that there were people out there who gave a shit, gotten used to the idea that they'd be waiting for her when she finally got out of this dump. Let herself gloss over the countless ways they could be taken away from her. Like her first Watcher had. Like the Mayor had. Like everyone that gave a shit about Faith had always been taken away.  
  
Not Angel - shit, *no*. Not when she'd just got him back. Angel all kinds of screwed up about having failed Darla and carrying around a fresh load of guilt over having let down Cordy and Wes and this Gunn guy, having let Faith down. She'd kept hanging onto the conviction that it was all an elaborate trick or something all along, because the possibility that he'd really given up on the whole redemption gig just terrified her. First time he showed up again she was wicked buzzed for days afterwards.  
  
She was just glad to have him back. Couldn't find it in her to be mad with him for freaking about Darla - he was just too damned important to her. Faith knew all about freaking out and hurting people. She almost liked the fact that he'd fucked up. Getting to be the forgiver rather than the forgivee was a real novelty these days.  
  
Sometimes Wes came with him, but mostly it was one or the other of them on their own. She and Wes were still not exactly friends, but after that first time he'd kept on visiting her while Angel was taking his walk on the wild side and she'd been glad to see him. Always that remnant of tension between them, scar tissue that wouldn't ever go away - but she'd been grateful to have a visitor, and he still came sometimes. Things were growing gradually easier. Made her wonder how it would have been if B had stayed dead when the Master rose. Except of course that then they'd have had the whole apocalypse thing go ahead, so she and Wes still wouldn't have ever had a chance to get it right. No point in wondering about 'what ifs'.  
  
Sometimes Wes kinda reminded her a tiny bit of Mayor Wilkins, although she didn't think he'd appreciate the comparison. She *really* missed the Mayor.  
  
So things were definitely getting better between her and Wes, but Angel was still the only person she could really kick back and relax with. The only one who understood. He had more blood on his hands than anyone else she knew, and he understood the *rush*. He knew how much damned fun it was - now that really wasn't a conversation she could have with Wesley.  
  
Angel was the only friend she had.  
  
"He's dead, isn't he?" she asked Wesley, just as she had the first time he visited, her voice flat and her mouth suddenly dry. "Angel's dead." She stared at his black sweater, wondered if it was one of Angel's sweaters that he'd borrowed or if that would be rude. But if he was dust then he wasn't going to need them anymore, was he?  
  
//Oh *shit*//  
  
The Englishman shook his head. Looked at her with the damnedest expression on his face.  
  
"No, Faith. Angel's fine. Well, I mean all things considered he's fine. He'd have come and told you himself but he's in rather poor shape at the minute."  
  
//Fucking A! He's not dead! He's *not* dead! He's sick or something, but he's not dead. *Gotta* stop jumping to conclusions like this, Faith//  
  
"It's Buffy - Buffy's dead," said Wesley simply. "You're the only Slayer now."  
  
She couldn't suppress a surge of satisfaction.  
  
//About fucking time!//  
  
Discovering you were a Vampire Slayer, the one girl in all the world Chosen to stand against the forces of darkness, really oughta be a fucking big deal. Being handed this gig and told you were the *spare* superhero, because the perfect little all-American gal Chosen before you had refused to stay dead, had already outlived one of her 'successors'.now that sucked. It sucked a whole lot more when she'd met Buffy and the rest of the goddamned Brady Bunch in Sunnydale and realised how totally and utterly alone and unwanted she really was.  
  
Fuck 'em all.  
  
Buffy had had it *easy*, the self-righteous little bitch. Angel. Riley. //"I don't wanna play"// All her little Scooby pals. That whole exclusive Watcher-Slayer mutual adoration society.and when Faith found her own Giles, Buffy fucking well *killed* him.  
  
"Hot Damn, I'm The Slayer!" she said wonderingly, testing out the concept. "Not the *other* Slayer, but the one and only Slayer. Check me out."  
  
She stared at Wesley, wondering what else to say. Wondering which kind of Nasty had finally caught up with the blonde girl.  
  
She didn't know she was crying until the first tear splashed down onto her bare wrist. Then she found she couldn't stop.  
  
//Christ, oh Christ B, I'm sorry// 


End file.
